"I'm cold," Morgan mumbled as they continued to trudge along, the sun long since set now. He pulled the space blanket closer around himself, trying to keep up with Walter's larger steps.
"We're almost there," Walter pushed with as light of a voice as he could. "You can see the house."
"Aren't you cold?"
"I'm still wet, of course I'm cold," Walter answered with a small nod. His shorts had rubbed him raw from having walked in them while wet, but at least his shoes were dry. He was hungry and tired and ready for a shower. Anything to warm up his burning limbs. "I promise we're almost there."
"If they ask how things went, tell them the truth," Morgan stated strongly, the blanket making an annoying fluttering sound as he walked.
"The truth?"
"Yeah. I floundered and wasn't of any help," Morgan answered, causing Walter to stop in his steps and look over the younger boy. "Don't tell them I did anything good. You took care of me the whole time."
"Morgan, you kept yourself alive just as much as I did. And you noticed the snake before I stepped on him. I never even saw him. Could you imagine having to take care of that? It would have been a mess."
"Is that a thank you?"
Walter laughed. "Yes. Thank you Morgan." He snatched up Morgan's hand and pulled Morgan along. "We're nearly there. Doesn't father's cooking sound wonderful? Something warm?"
Morgan smiled. "Yes," he agreed. "Wonderful."
Walter pulled Morgan all of the way to the back of the house and stepped up onto the porch, reaching for the back door and stopping. The blanket and backpack were dropped to the porch, both now completely forgotten.
"Somethings wrong," Morgan muttered. "The lights are off."
"Let's go to the front of the house," Walter muttered softly, still holding tightly to Morgan's hand. "See if the cars are here."
They went around to the front of the house and Walter looked over the cars in their driveway curiously. There was Hannibal's and Will's, one that Will never drove, and then several black cars on the street. Cars that Walter didn't know but was certain didn't belong there.
"I want you to stay out here Morgan," Walter muttered, dropping Morgan's hand.
"No," Morgan stated strongly, heading for the front door. Walter raced after Morgan and nearly ran into him when the door didn't open, locked. "The window next to the laundry room should be open. I can fit through it and come open the door."
"Morgan, you know something is wrong here," Walter warned, hands and feet antsy, chest tight. "I don't want you to get hurt."
"I'll be fine," Morgan stated, walking back from the front door, and continuing around the house. "I'll be back in a moment."
Morgan turned the corner of the dark house and found the small window to the laundry room that only he would have been able to fit through. He lifted up the pane and lowered himself down, feet first. He had to suck in his stomach and hold his breath to shove his torso through the window, but he dropped down to the concrete floor without a problem.
He went for the door to the laundry room and carefully pushed it open, glancing around the door before leaving the room when nothing was wrong. He closed the door behind himself and stepped quietly through the house that was empty. There wasn't a sound to be heard.
Everything was cold and dark. No food being made, no classical music playing, no laughter or kind chatter from his parents. It was a ghost town and it set Morgan on edge. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he came to the main hallway and saw something slumped in the middle of the hall. Morgan slowly moved closer, heart nearly beating out of his chest.
Two bodies lay huddled in the hallway. Large men that Morgan didn't know, had never seen. Each with a hole in their heads, both dead and sitting in their own blood.
Morgan wasn't exactly sure what his body was telling him to do. There was an icy cold that washed over him from the top of his skull, pooling around his ears, tensing his shoulders, all the way down to his feet. It was a strange feeling, the atmosphere was just complete nothingness around him, though he knew this wasn't right. This was wrong, but he wasn't sure what to do about it. Should he scream? Should he run? Should he... get Walter. That was what he was supposed to do.
Morgan carefully stepped over the bodies, almost afraid one would jump up and grab him like those zombies in those books he had read about. Luckily neither of them moved and Morgan raced to the front door, unlocking it and pulling it open.
Walter's brows furrowed as he took in the ragged looking Morgan in front of him. "What's wrong?"
"D-Dead," Morgan stuttered out. "Dead men in the hallway."
Walter gave a small nod and knelt, taking Morgan's shoulders. He could remember the feeling of seeing his first dead body. He could remember the feeling of seeing his second dead body. It didn't get any easier. Somehow the second time was worse because it shoved him back into the first one to live again. And he knew Morgan had watched at least Margot die, so this must have been worse for him too.
"It's alright Morgan," Walter assured softly. "They can't hurt you."
"I miss my moms, Walter," Morgan whispered, eyes distant.
Walter frowned. "I know, Morgan. I miss my mom too, but right now we need to focus. Can you do that for me?" Morgan gave a small nod and Walter smiled. "Good. Do you remember how you protected me from David? Do you remember how brave and strong you were?" Morgan gave another nod. "I need you to be like that again."
"Alright."
Walter got back to his feet and glanced around the entryway, taking it in. Nothing was off, nothing inherently wrong, but it was wrong. Hannibal and Will should have been here, and they weren't.
"Come with me," Walter instructed, taking Morgan's hand, and leading him towards the kitchen.
They needed weapons, something to keep them safe, but Walter didn't know the combination to the gun safe so this was their next best option. In the kitchen he found the knife block that was already missing a knife and gave a sigh, pulling one out for him and one for Morgan. They had been trained with knives, just not as extensively with guns and Walter was far more confident with a gun, even if he wasn't a very good shot. It provided distance and safety. This was close and would most likely end up in him getting hurt as well.
"Where would you take Father and Dad?" Walter asked softly into the quiet kitchen.
"Somewhere private," Morgan offered. "Somewhere you could do what you want with them, and no one would hear."
"Somewhere... Hidden away?" Walter gave a shrug, not feeling any closer. "Who wants Father dead? Let's start there."
"Everyone?" Morgan answered honestly. "He says everyone from his old life wants him dead."
"These aren't people from his old life. They're German." Walter sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "I'm German and I'm mad at Hannibal for something. What does Hannibal do when he's not home? He holds therapy sessions. So, I'm a patient, or someone close to a patient. What do I want with Hannibal?"
"Notes from our sessions?" Morgan asked back, shooting in the dark and very nearly certain that it was the wrong answer.
"The study?" Walter took Morgan's hand and pulled him from the kitchen.
"We don't know where his study is," Morgan pointed out.
"The west wing," Walter answered with a smile. "You should have come exploring with me instead of reading your book."
Walter led Morgan through the house, up the stairs and past their parent's room, down a long hall and into a part of the house that Morgan didn't recognize, though it was just as gothic and medieval like the rest of the house.
Walter came to a stop outside of a door that Morgan could see a light coming out from under. That wasn't right either, if the dead bodies in the hall weren't anything to go on. Hannibal was never in his study later than nine o'clock. He made it a point to stop working by nine so that he could be with his family. Normally he finished working earlier than that to cook dinner, but nine was the cut off. It had always been the cut off after Will and Hannibal had fought about Hannibal working too much.
"We can't just walk in," Morgan whispered at the sound of voices from the other side of the door.
"You know how there's the dumbwaiter in the kitchen?" Walter asked softly. "It goes up to the storage room. There's another one in the study. It's down in the basement. That weird little door in the training room."
"Can we both fit in there?"
"I don't see why not. But we must do something. They're in trouble, and you know it."
Walter took Morgan's free hand once more and led him back up the winding hallways and they raced back down the stairs and into the other hall, down another flight of stairs until they reached the training room, blue matts giving way under their shoes.
"And you've used this before?" Morgan asked as Walter pushed open the two small doors that were in the wall that Morgan had always wondered what they were for. Walter shook his head and motioned for Morgan to come over to him. Walter put his knife in his teeth and picked Morgan up, setting him inside for the small dumbwaiter. He pulled the knife from his mouth and hoisted himself up and into the cramped space, almost on top of Morgan as he shifted to fit his legs inside. "It's a pulley system. It shouldn't be too hard to figure out." He reached out and took one of the ropes. "One side goes up; the other goes down." He pulled on the rope and the dumbwaiter jolted upright, relatively quiet for its age.
"And how do you know that it comes out in the right room?"
"I haven't seen any other room in this house to have a dumbwaiter door in any other rooms in this house and we're allowed into all of them. It doesn't leave many options for where this one will end up."
Will watched quietly as a fist collided with Hannibal's face again. There wasn't much Will could do from where he sat, tied once more to a chair on one side of Hannibal's overly large desk and Hannibal was tied to a chair on the other side of the overly large desk.
Will had done his best to try to wet the duct tape that was back over his mouth with his tongue, but he could seem to loosen the tape up. He twisted and strained his hands against the ropes once more around his wrists, but all the knots held good. The hours only seemed to crawl by like years until the clock on the desktop chimed out the time, telling him how long it had been. It was midnight and the twelve little bongs were echoing loud in the silent room aside from the assaults on Hannibal that had been going on from the moment they had lost their battle.
There were a good six or seven that Hannibal and Will had dropped before the remaining five brought them down. Will's shoulder was bleeding freely from a gunshot wound, but he hadn't passed out yet, so he figured it wasn't going to kill him. Not right away at least. Hannibal had been hit over the head with a vase, knocking him unconscious, though the man was incredibly conscious now.
The man who had punched Hannibal, someone with the name of Johann, that sounded more like a sneeze than an actual name, stood upright. Will watched as the man with a strong build and shockingly white blond hair, looked over the rings he wore that were covered in Hannibal's blood.
Johann had introduced himself as the brother of Schmidt, Heidi's father, Heidi being Hannibal's patient as Will had pieced together easily enough. Or at least, he hoped that he had understood it all correctly. His German was laughable at best, and he had barely a hope to speak a lick of it back, the duct tape having nothing to do with the inability.
Hannibal was silent as he straightened himself up the best that he could around the ropes holding him in place. Blood poured down his face from his nose, turning the silvery cloth of the duct tape into a shining ruby red. His cheek was so cut up it was a wall of blood and he looked like he had been crying possibly. His eyes were red and wet looking.
Will glanced around at the other four in the room. Each one looked to be around the same build as Ansgar and Will figured they were all part of the family business, whatever that was. But it had to be underground enough that they were specially trained in combat. All were facing Hannibal and Will, ready to attack if something ended up happening.
"Your children still haven't returned home, Dr. Klaus Eisner," Johann said in German, as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began cleaning his knuckles and rings. "I'm beginning to wonder if you ever had any children. Though Heidi has mentioned that you talk about your two boys quite often."
Hannibal simply stared at Johann, breathing hard through a bloody nose. He wouldn't have said anything even if he could have spoken. If his children were far away from here, then he was more than happy to continue getting beaten down. He nearly hoped that the boys had gotten lost on their way back so that they wouldn't come across the scene.
Johann motioned one of his men forward and Hannibal could only watch as the brute moved to Will, placing the cold barrel of the gun to Will's temple. Will's eyes met Hannibal's for a moment, though he didn't look too terribly worried. A gun to Will's head was nothing new, but his eyes quickly shut when the hammer was pulled back, causing him to flinch.
"Now, Dr. Eisner," Johann stated, a hand taking the back of Hannibal's chair next to Hannibal's shoulder. "Since your children are nowhere to be found, I don't think you would mind if we replace them with your... domestic partner."
Will inhaled deeply, steadying his racing pulse and opened his eyes, nearly wanting to shout when he saw a small set of doors in the wall opposite him slide open. The dumbwaiter that hadn't been used in years and was eerily silent was opened to reveal both of Will's sons to him. Will's heart sank as he watched Walter carefully lower Morgan to the ground.
Will's eyes flickered over to Hannibal who was shooting Will daggers to not give their children away. Will did his best to keep his eyes away from the dumbwaiter, but he couldn't help but watch as Morgan noiselessly removed his shoes and rose to his feet.
Walter lowered himself down as well, removing his shoes to keep as silent as possible, a knife held firmly in his hand. He motioned for Morgan to stay back before stepping forward and further into the room. Will looked back towards Johann who had continued speaking, though Will didn't much care to try to pick out what he was saying. He was hoping that Walter would see the warning, the begging in his eyes that was telling them to go back.
Walter stayed as close to the edges of the room as he could, moving slowly and trying not to be noticed. He had to get to Will. Will was the one most in danger now and the person who Walter was most likely going to get spotted trying to help. But the others were stupid, far too caught up in whatever their boss was saying to notice Walter's micro movements.
Walter stopped as the blond man laughed, German coming from his mouth and for once Walter didn't struggle to understand. "Es ist nicht persönlich, Herr Eisner. Du bist das einzige, was Klaus verletzen kann." (It's not personal, Mr. Eisner. You're the only thing that can hurt Klaus.)
Walter took a deep breath, speaking before he could tell his mind to stop. "Es ist persönlich für mich." (It's personal to me.) Walter didn't hesitate. He put the blade to the hand that held the gun to Will's head and pulled across the man's wrist as hard as he could. Blood splattered Will's shocked face as the gun fell to the ground. Walter fell to his knees, scooping up the gun. He didn't need to waste a bullet on the man that was now on the ground, crying out in pain. He would bleed out eventually. Walter had severed the artery. "Morgan," he called, sliding the gun across the floor and to the little boy who stood stunned.
Walter made sure that Morgan snatched up the gun before working the kitchen knife under the ropes around Will's wrists, cutting through them. There was a crack as the gun went off and Walter couldn't stop his jump, glancing up to see one of the other men fall to the ground. Once Will's hands were free enough for Will to finish untying himself, Walter raced back over to Morgan, who was being surrounded by the other two men who were still standing.
Walter fell to his knees at the feet of one of the men and used both hands to stab the kitchen knife into the man's leg. He gave a cry of pain and crumpled to the floor. Walter yanked the knife free, not thinking it would be as difficult as pulling Excalibur from the stone would have been. But with the knife now free, blood gushing from the man's thigh, Walter drove the knife into the man's chest as far as he could, hand slipping down the blade. There was a sharp pain that filled Walter's hand, but he ignored it as his blood coated the knife, he just pushed at the knife until it was buried hilt deep into the man's chest.
There was another gunshot that went off, the last of the men beside Morgan falling to the ground. Walter looked up to meet Morgan's face, both breathing hard, Morgan pale as shock quickly filled him, hand trembling on the gun. Walter was about to reach for the gun, but there was another loud crack that filled the room and an agonized cry from Will as a needle like pain filled Walter's shoulder.
Walter gasped, a hand reaching back and feeling a stickiness begin to soak the back of his shirt. His hands trembled and he gave a small laugh, slumping over, eyes up at the ceiling. He couldn't bring himself to move, the pain unlike anything he had ever experienced before. This wasn't a sting from a paintball. This wasn't a burn from a chalk pellet. This was a swallowing heat that radiated from his shoulder and through his mind, making it the only thing he could clearly think about.
Will watched in absolute horror as Walter's body collapsed to the floor, the sound coming from his mouth inhuman. Walter would be alright. He would be. He had to be, Will kept repeating to himself.
Will's fingers worked as quickly as they could as the gun was aimed now at Morgan who still stood by the dumbwaiter, his own gun up, but of no use to him if he didn't focus. And there was nothing Will could blame the boy for. He had just killed two men and Will remembered the panic attack he had had when he had killed Garret Jacob Hobbs.
Will pushed the rest of the ropes from around his body and raced from his chair and to Morgan. Will wasn't sure which one came first, it happened too quickly. He didn't know if he heard the blast of the gunshot or felt the bullet hit his back. He didn't care. He knelt in front of Morgan and Morgan was safe. Pale and shaking, but bullet free and safe.
"Give me the gun, Morgan," Will whispered softly with a small smile, ignoring the pain that was quickly spreading through his entire body, something much more mind numbing than the bullets that normally graced his arms were. Will reached out and carefully pulled the revolver from Morgan's hands. There would be two rounds left if Will did his math correctly. He had watched the gun be loaded. Five rounds. One in his shoulder, and two in these men. Two rounds left just for him. "Get down and stay small." Will groaned as another shot rang out, something hitting his side this time, missing everything important, but still burning. He waited for Morgan to obey, laying on the ground and curling up into a tiny ball before he scooped up the discarded kitchen knife and pushed himself to his feet, gun up and aimed at Johann when he turned around.
Walter watched through tear filled eyes as Will aimed the gun, pulling the trigger before the blond man had time to get another round off. The bullet met the man's thigh, and his leg gave out under him, sending him crashing to the floor. Will stepped forward, strong as if he hadn't been shot at all and kicked the gun away from the blond man's reach.
The gun in Will's hand went off again, this time lining the man's crotch with liquid red. The man screamed, hands going to where his junk no longer was and Will tossed the now empty gun aside, kneeling beside Johann.
"You hurt my sons, I hurt you," Will hissed, not caring if the man didn't understand. Not caring if the man was too engrossed in what was between his legs. Will lifted the knife up and brought it down into Johann's arm, smiling at another scream. Will pulled the knife free, bringing it down again and again and again, blood splattering him, screams soon falling silent, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Not until this man paid for everything he had done, not just to the Heidi girl, but to Will's own family.
His arms and back cried out in pain and eventually the last stab sent the knife through Johann's neck, pinning him to the ground with a hearty thud into the wooden floor. Will's chest heaved as he put his weight into the knife for balance, vision blurring, curious if Jordan was this tired after stabbing two people thirteen times each whenever he killed.
Will released the knife and fell onto his hands and knees before his arms gave out and he fell to the floor, utterly spent.
It took Morgan a moment, but his head popped up at the silence and he sat fully upright, taking in the room. He needed to help, needed to do something, but his limbs felt like liquid as he pushed himself to his feet.
He stumbled through the room and over to where Hannibal still sat, tied to a chair. Morgan went around to the back of Hannibal and his trembling fingers pulled at the knots around Hannibal's wrists, an eternity passing before he was able to get them undone. As soon as Hannibal's hands were free, he pushed at the ropes holding his body to the chair, up and over his head and then ripped the duct tape from his mouth. He got to his feet, reaching out and pulling Morgan to him in a hug.
"I need you to listen to me, kleiner hase," Hannibal said, voice urgent. "Your dad and Walter need help and you need to help me. I can't work on both of them myself. Can you help me?" Morgan gave a small nod and Hannibal patted his head. "You did so well, kleiner hase. I'm so proud of you. We just need to work a little longer and then we can all rest, alright?" Another nod was Hannibal's answer. "Good. Can you please go and make sure that the desk is cleared off?"
Morgan got to his feet and went over to the desk, pushing everything on it gracelessly onto the floor with a loud crash, but Hannibal didn't mind. He knelt next to Will who met his gaze with a small huff of laughter.
"Still hurts," he whispered roughly. "You would think that after all of the times I've been shot, I would be used to it."
"Are you alright if I work on Walter first?" Hannibal asked, brushing back Will's curls.
Will gave a nod, licking at his lips and closing his eyes. "I can wait," Will agreed softly.
"Nužudymas suteikia tavo skruostams spalvą, mano meile." (Killing brings color to your cheeks, my love.) Will gave a small laugh at Hannibal's words and Hannibal quickly went over to where Walter lay on the ground, kneeling beside his son. "Jums bus gerai, mangustėl," (You'll be fine, mongoose.) Hannibal whispered to Walter who gave a pained nod.
"Morgan," Hannibal continued as he scooped Walter as carefully as he could from the floor. "In that cabinet I have medical equipment. I need you to grab everything I need to remove bullets."
"Ok," Morgan said with a nod, rushing over to the cabinet and pulling it open.
Hannibal rested Walter down on the desk, sitting up, and began tearing apart Walter's t-shirt that was dirty from trekking through the forest all day and wet, most likely from the river, Hannibal reasoned.
"Morgan, there's a bathroom across the hall. Find something to put some warm water in and get some rags."
Morgan placed the medical supplies he had gathered on the desktop and quickly rushed from the room.
"Mangustėl," Hannibal said, his hands taking Walter's face. "How are you feeling?"
Walter gave a forced laugh. "It fucking hurts," he answered. "And do not tell me about watching my language, Father." Walter gave another laugh and Hannibal smiled. "You look like shit."
"I can wait," Hannibal assured. Morgan came back into the room with a bowl of water that had several rags in it. "Thank you, kleiner hase. Can you attend to Walter's hand while I work on the rest of him?"
Morgan nodded and took a rag from the bowl, ringing it out before snatching up Walter's wrist and wiping at his palm that was sliced through. Walter winced and Morgan flinched muttering a small sorry before continuing to work. He placed gauze into the cleaned slash and began wrapping at it.
"Morgan, go check on your dad, please," Hannibal pushed as he focused in on finding the bullet lodged in Walter's shoulder with a pair of tweezers.
Morgan nodded and went over to where Will was lying in a puddle of blood, possibly his own or the butchered man beside him. Morgan knelt and took Will's hand, causing Will's eyes to flicker open, the blue dull.
"I'm sorry," Morgan whispered, tears blurring his eyes despite how hard he tried to push the emotions down. If the emotions broke through it was difficult for Morgan to hold them back. He normally had to let them run their course until he could begin again, but he needed to be strong right now. He had to be there for his parents. They needed him. "I'm sorry Dad."
"Shh," Will hushed, forcing himself to sit up. His face was twisted in pain as he reached out for Morgan, pulling him into a hug, effectively covering them both in blood. "Quiet. You did nothing wrong. You did everything we taught you to. Do not feel guilty. I will always protect you, Morgan. Always."
"Fuck!" Walter hissed loudly from the desk, hands clutching the edge of it with clenched teeth, tears rolling down his cheeks without his permission as he ignored the throbbing in his hand that held to the desk.
"Hush, mangustėl," Hannibal instructed, hand taking Walter's other shoulder to hold the boy still as he worked. "It splintered into pieces. Just be patient." Hannibal grabbed one of the cloths from the bowl and wiped at Walter's back, washing away the dirt and blood that was making a muddy mess against the boy's skin. "I think we're nearly done. Morgan!" Hannibal glanced behind him and gave a small smile at Will hugging the boy, the smile shooting pain through his battered cheek. "I need clean water. Can you fetch that please?"
Morgan jumped to his feet and moved back to the desk to scoop up the dirty, bloody bowl and took it from the room.
Hannibal looked back to his work, pulling another piece of metal from his son's back, causing Walter to groan. Hannibal glanced up as a body leaned against the desk and found a tired and sweaty Will, painted in liquid red, face twisted in pain.
"You should be resting," Hannibal scolded. "You know-"
"I can't rest. And they're just bullets," Will interrupted. His hand took the desk for balance, and he carefully made his way around it. Hannibal huffed in dislike, pulling another mangled shard of metal free from Walter's shoulder.
"Dammit," Walter called out, fist slamming against the desk. He could feel Hannibal's hand take his head and he was waiting to be reprimanded, but his Father simply placed a kiss into his dirty, sweaty hair.
"That's the last of it," Hannibal assured, glancing down as Morgan placed the now fresh water onto the desk. "Thank you, kleiner hase. Grab me some gauze, please."
Walter could feel the warm cloth press into his back, cleaning at the wound and making him bite his tongue until he could taste copper in his mouth. Hands on his face made him look up and to Will who looked high beyond belief. Will's thumbs brushed at Walter's tears, more effectively smearing his face with blood than helping.
Walter whimpered as a needle was pushed into his skin and the intruding feeling of something being pulled through his skin made him want to run.
"I'm proud of you," Will said softly, words nearly slurred together. "You're so strong Walter." Will leaned over and placed a kiss to his son's head. "I love you."
"Love you too Dad," Walter got out through his teeth. With stitches done, his wound was wrapped, the bandages going across his body.
Walter sighed, letting his body relax. He was home. He was safe now. His parents were here, and he didn't need to be in charge anymore. All he wanted to do was sleep in a bed, the poor choices of not sleeping the night before beginning to burn his bones.
"Walter, I need you and Morgan to listen to me," Hannibal said as he came around the desk to be by both boys, hands on each of their shoulders respectively. "We're not done yet. We still need to clean this place up. Do you understand what I am telling you?"
Walter glanced over at the floor that was a mess of bodies and blood, a stench beginning to fill the room. They weren't done yet. Nowhere near done. The night was still young if the job ahead of them had anything to say about it.
"I know what I am asking of you is hard and you have both gone through so much already, but I need to look over your dad and take care of him. I can't do everything by myself," Hannibal continued. "Do not strain yourselves. You're overworked, but I need you boys to gather the cleaning supplies from my storage room. The key is on my keyring downstairs. Do you understand what I am telling you Walter?"
Hannibal's eyes landed on Walter who inhaled deeply with a firm nod. He understood. Hannibal was letting him into a part of his world, a part that Walter knew he kept well hidden from them. Something that Hannibal didn't want the boys to be a part of but now they were.
"Morgan," Walter stated, glancing down at the younger boy who was sickly pale and going through whatever motions that anyone put in front of him. "Go get Father's keys. I will be downstairs in a moment. Wait for me." Morgan gave a small nod and stepped through the mess of bodies and blood, leaving the room.
Hannibal released Walter's shoulder and Walter dropped down from the desk, watching as his father helped his dad sit down on the desk, hands steadying Will's hips.
"Walter, do not let Morgan into that room. I need you to promise me that you will not let Morgan into that room," Hannibal stated strongly as he unbuttoned Will's shirt.
"I promise," Walter said with a nod.
"Morgan is on the edge of going into shock and if he sees what's in that room he will. I cannot deal with that at the moment, not until Will is taken care of."
"I understand," Walter assured, heading for the door, bare feet sliding in the stickiness of the blood, it gushing up between his toes unpleasantly.
"Walter, please take it easy on your body," Hannibal reminded. "I don't need you tearing your stitches."
Walter left the room and made his way down the hall that was going to need to be cleaned as well now that blood was being tracked through the house, Walter followed a set of smallest footprints through the halls.
He found himself back downstairs and Morgan was waiting at the foot of the stairs with Hannibal's keys in hand, outstretched towards Walter.
"Morgan, I need you to stay outside of this room," Walter instructed as they made their way towards the basement and down another flight of stairs. There were too many stairs in this house. Walter wasn't sure if his legs could carry him up and down multiple times. "I'm going to hand things to you for you to run to Father. Do you understand?"
"Wally, I don't feel good," Morgan muttered softly.
"Just a little longer, Morgan. We're nearly done. I promise." Walter passed by their training room and went for the door at the end of the hall, stopping in front of it and finding the key that he knew belonged to the door. The key was different from the other keys. Something shaped a little differently than the others. "Stay here."
Walter unlocked the door and felt around for a light switched, flicking it on and closing the door behind himself. Walter glanced around at the narrow cement hallway in front of him that was dimly lit and reminded him of the dungeons in the video games he sometimes played when he couldn't sleep. With small steps he followed the hallway until it opened into a large room. Walter blinked and did his best to take it all in, staring at something like out of a horror film.
Full surgical equipment filled half of the room with a large silver table that had small coves along the sides with a tube that led into the ground. There were trays holding tools, each one polished to perfection. Lights hung from the ceiling, like something from a medical tv show. Lights that were used in surgery rooms, large and round.
The other half were more tools, separated in the middle with what looked like chains and hooks from the ceiling, those cleaned to a shining silver as well.
Walter stepped further into the room, heart in his chest, taking in the other tools. Things from a workshop. Table saw. Band saw. A mass array of power tools that Walter wasn't even sure what they were supposed to do.
And a freezer? Maybe? It was like a second room, glass doors, fogged up and painted with delicate patterns of ice. Walter could make something out in the center. Something dark and tall, but he didn't dare open the door to see what it was.
Walter swallowed at the lump in his throat and licked at his lips, willing his heart to slow, to relax, reminding himself that he had known all along. He had always known, so there was no reason to feel the way he did. But he had every right to feel like his world was about to crumble out from under his feet.
Cleaning supplies.
The words snapped into Walter's head, and he inhaled deeply, lungs burning from holding his breath. He let the new rush of adrenaline move him to where there were shelves lined with bottles and other various items. Walter snatched up a bucket and a scrub brush and began to fill the bucket with other brushes that he found, and then he grabbed a large bottle of bleach that made his arm twinge painfully under the weight.
Walter winced but carried the items back through the room and up the hallway, opening the door and causing Morgan to jump.
"Here. Take these to father and hurry back. I'll have more for you," Walter stated, voice much calmer than he anticipated it being.
"You're-" Will gasped loudly as his shirt was yanked from his body. "You're letting Walter into your room?"
"He already knows who I am," Hannibal muttered, doing his best not to hurt Will, but knowing it was impossible. "From the moment he knew my name, he knew what I was."
"And you think that-"
"He stabbed two people without a second thought," Hannibal interrupted, tossing Will's shirt aside and taking in all the damage to Will's body. "Seeing my room is not going to affect him."
Hannibal reached for a washcloth and began cleaning the blood from Will's arm and then his back to better see what he was working with. The shoulder and the side would be easy enough to deal with. They were through and through, just needing to be cleaned and patched up, nothing torn, nothing hit. But the one in Will's back had Hannibal concerned.
Hannibal needed to save that for last. The bullet was still in him and would help stop the blood flow for the time being. The other two needed to be dealt with immediately.
Hannibal grabbed a bottle of peroxide and gave a chuckle at Will's apprehensive expression. Hannibal took Will's shoulder and leaned him back just slightly.
"I hate that stuff, Hannibal," Will grumbled.
"It's not iodine," Hannibal pointed out, almost enjoying the way that Will's face twisted up with a loud moan, fist slamming into the desk like Walter's had as Hannibal poured the clear liquid onto the wound. "We have to clean it."
"You used alcohol wipes on Walter," Will complained through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the way the liquid made his skin bubble up and the burn that would not go away.
"I didn't think I would need to treat you like a child, Will," Hannibal teased, wiping at Will's shoulder once more, before dumping some of the peroxide onto the exit wound, receiving a very similar reaction from Will again.
"Shit. Stop reveling in my pain."
"I wonder where Walter gets his mouth from," Hannibal dead panned. "What else have you been teaching the boys while I'm away?"
"H-Hannibal," Will gasped, hand darting out and taking one of Hannibal's, breathing hard, head spinning. "I'm going to throw up."
Hannibal glanced around the room and snatched up his trash can from under his desk, holding it out to Will. Will grabbed it and Hannibal ignored the gagging sound that came from Will. He simply went to work preparing a needle and thread to stitch up Will. Will's heaving came to a stop, and he kept his head in the trash can, breathing hard.
"We have to move," he pointed out, voice muffled in the bin. Hannibal took the bin from Will's hand and set it on the desk beside the man in case he got sick again.
"I can't leave yet. That girl still needs me," Hannibal explained seriously, leaning Will back again so he could start stitching at his skin.
"We can't stay here. More of them are going to come after us," Will argued without much bite to his words.
He inhaled sharply as the needle was pushed into him. His eyes watered and he glanced towards the door as their youngest son stumbled through it, carrying far too much for what they had all gone through. Morgan set everything down where Hannibal indicated and then rushed back out of the room.
"He's going to have a break down if he keeps pushing himself like that," Will warned, only receiving a nod from Hannibal. "You understand why we can't stay," Will pushed on. "Even if that girl is still-" Will moaned at a jab that seemed a little harsher than the rest. "Hannibal, we can't stay."
"I can't disappear on her." Hannibal gave a sigh as he tied off the last stitch. "Can you shift a little so that I can get your back?" Will altered himself a bit and Hannibal went to work stitching up the exit wound. "Let me see her through one last thing and we can leave."
"Hannibal," Will stated firmly. He opened his mouth to speak but another wave of nausea came over him and he grabbed onto the bin, giving Hannibal enough warning to stop watching for Will to be sick. "This place is not safe for the boys, and you know it." Will placed the bin aside and tried to breathe deeply through the pain as Hannibal continued his work. "We need to leave in the morning."
"Where would you like to go this time?" Hannibal asked in surrender. Will was right. The girl wasn't his child, he was just someone he felt a roundabout connection to. He had helped her enough. He didn't need to do more for her. He was certain that most of the men that now lay dead were the larger names in the family. It would take time for the family to gather back together and form a new plan. Time they needed to run away. "We have papers for-"
"You promised me Venice," Will said, doing anything to keep his mind on something pleasant.
"I don't know if we should go back to Italy quite yet," Hannibal mumbled, finishing off those stitches and instructing Will to lay down so that Hannibal could clean his side. "Maybe we can go-"
"Hannibal."
Hannibal gave a nod as he poured more peroxide on Will's wounds. Will swore as Morgan entered the room with Walter behind him, both carrying tubs and bags and more bleach.
"Father," Walter said as he set everything down and made his way to the desk. "What would you like us to do?"
Hannibal paused in his work and glanced over the two boys and what they had brought up and then over the bodies.
"Do not bother with the bodies. I will take care of them in a moment," Hannibal said. "Start with cleaning up the blood. Get it into the buckets and dump them in the tub in the bathroom when they're full. We'll start in this room and work our way downstairs. I'll help as soon as I'm done with your dad."
Walter nodded and walked over to where Morgan stood, staring. He knelt to Morgan's height and took his shoulders.
"Look at me Morgan," Walter whispered, calling the boy's dull eyes to his face. "You do not have to help. Do you understand?"
"But-"
"You do not have to help," Walter repeated strongly. "If you want to sit there, you can sit there, and I will take care of this. Is that what you want?" Morgan gave a nod in answer and Walter pushed Morgan towards the desk. "Go sit behind there so you don't have to see anymore."
Morgan did as instructed and Hannibal stepped aside, letting the small boy hide under his desk, curled up in a ball.
The room was silent after that, filled with only gasps from Will and the sound of rags soaking up blood and being rung out into the bucket.
The night was long, Hannibal and Walter taking care of nearly everything, Hannibal forcing Will to stay still, resting. Will sat on the floor, back against the wall, a silent Morgan laying in his lap, Will playing with Morgan's hair as the silence continued.
"Will," Hannibal said after what could have been several hours of scrubbing on hands and knees. "Go get you and Morgan washed up. Walter and I will take care of this."
Will gave a small nod and pushed Morgan to his feet, getting up himself. Walter watched as Will's body swayed slightly, but he stayed upright, guiding the younger boy from the room.
"Take a rest, Walter," Hannibal instructed. "You're bleeding through your bandages." Walter shook his head, breathing labored in his mask as he continued to scrub at the floor with bleach. "Walter Johnathan Graham," Hannibal said sternly, though Walter didn't let up. "I will not repeat myself."
"You haven't even looked at your face and taken care of yourself. I am still pumping adrenaline, I won't be able to sit still even though I want to," Walter argued, voice harsh as he scrubbed. "We are going to be working on this for hours. You are not doing it alone. I am here, through the blood and the sugar."
Hannibal paused in his cleaning and looked over at his son who moved forward a bit in his scrubbing, pouring bleach across the floor, the scrub brush making a scratching sound as he pushed on.
"You need help moving the bodies too. You can't do all of this alone and isn't this what you have been training us for?" Walter asked, not bothering to look up at his father's eyes that were digging into him. "Dad isn't going to be able to help you and Morgan is too far lost in his own head to be of any further help." Walter gave a sigh, pausing in his work, the burn in his arms unreal. "Plus, you told me I had choices. This is my choice. I am here to help, so use me before I break into pieces, because I can only stay strong a while longer, Father."
Walter met his father's eyes that held a small portion of surprise in them. Hannibal gave a deep, resigned sigh and a single nod. "Alright, Walter."
"What are we doing with the bodies? Are they going to your room?"
"Yes," Hannibal answered, wiping at his brow with his forearm. "I will need to take care of them in the morning."
"When are we leaving?" Walter pushed himself up onto his feet and glanced around the room trying to find if there was any other blood they had missed. He knew once they moved the bodies there was going to be more to clean up, but for the most part it looked like everything was pristinely clean.
"Leaving?" Hannibal asked as he rose to his own feet, looking over the room as well. "We'll start with the one closest to the door. Then the two in the downstairs hall before returning here."
"Ok." Walter nodded and moved over to the man closest to the door, watching as Hannibal hoisted the man up and over his shoulder like a sack of flower, Walter feeling useless as he tried to grab the man's legs in hope of bearing some of the weight of the German. "And leaving," Walter continued, voice strained under the weight. "We're going to be moving again, won't we?"
"Yes."
It was straightforward. Hannibal wasn't one to beat around the bush. He was always honest, brutally so, but it was needed. No sugar coating, something that needed to be heard and said outright.
"Can we go somewhere that I can speak the language this time?" Walter gave a small laugh as they trudged down the hall, Walter thinking he was probably hindering Hannibal more than he was helping, but the man didn't say anything against Walter.
"Like where?"
"I'm good at Italian. I know you won't go back to Lithuania," Walter answered. "And I like Italy."
"That seems to be the popular opinion," Hannibal muttered, shifting the body just slightly to get a better grip on it.
"Why didn't we use the dumbwaiter?" Walter questioned, causing Hannibal to pause in his step before pushing on. "It goes down to the training room."
"Do you want to try to shove a body into that little space that you and Morgan barely fit in and then clean up all of the blood that's going to be in it?" Hannibal asked back.
"Not really," Walter said, cautiously searching out for the first step of the stairs with his toes before finding the drop and starting down them.
"Great idea otherwise, mangustėl," Hannibal praised quickly, allowing time for Walter to reach the bottom of the stairs before continuing onto the next set of stairs they needed to take. "Just make sure you think through every possibility, every outcome."
Walter was more than helpful until they reached the still unlocked door to Hannibal's private room, the one that made Walter's blood run cold. One he wished he hadn't needed to step into so much so that he stopped walking.
"You don't have to go back in, Walter," Hannibal said as he came to a stop to glance back at Walter. "You don't-"
"Show me," Walter said after a moment. "I need to understand."
"Walter-"
"Show me," Walter pushed, walking again.
Without a word, Hannibal started on and into the cramped hall and into the rest of the room. Walter let himself be led away towards that large glass frosted room. Walter watched as Hannibal opened the door and stepped in, pulling the body from Walter's grip, and disappearing inside of it. Walter hesitantly stepped over to the door and glanced inside, curiosity winning out in him.
He stared at a body that was already there, hanging from another hook in the ceiling, skin pale and covered in a thin ice. "Who is this?" Walter questioned as Hannibal lowered the body into the corner, making sure it was laid out straight. Walter shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, watching as his breath hung deadly in the air.
"No one you need to concern yourself with," Hannibal answered. He glanced over the man in the corner, and satisfied with the body placement, turned back to Walter who was shivering in the cold room. "You ready to get the next one?"
"What are you going to do with them in the morning?"
"Morgan?" Will asked as he stepped back into his bathroom, looking towards the still going shower. Will placed the towel on the counter and went towards the shower, opening the frosted glass door to find his son cuddling in a corner of the shower. "Morgan, look at me."
Morgan's head raised up from his arms and he looked over Will, heart pounding dully in his ears. "I-I-I..." Morgan stuttered, blinking in the spray from the shower, over his dad who had done his best to wash the blood off him in the sink, but was still covered and in need of a shower himself.
Morgan's hands shook as he remembered the way the gun recoiled in his hand as he shot it. The world felt so far away, and Morgan couldn't seem to push through the drowning feeling in his stomach. Everything was slow, foggy, except for that moment that replayed over and over again.
The body dropping to the floor. A man's body falling to the ground after being shot by him. A body, lifeless and on the ground. A body bleeding out, gasping as blood trailed from their lips. A body like his mother's.
Eyes wide and unseeing as they stared back at him. Dress painted red instead of the lovely summer flowers it had been. Chest heaving, tears running down her cheeks. A weak smile as a hand tried to wipe blood from his face.
He had always imagined what had happened after they had been hid in the closet. The same two men who took care of him now barged into the room and took out the others in the room in a bloody ballet, each death graceful and final. The same blood-stained face that stared back at him now.
"I killed someone!" Morgan blurted out, the words finally ringing through his head, no longer lost in the fog. His breathing doubled and his hands went to his head, red flowing through the bottom of the shower and into the drain. A never ending red though the water was clear and had been for quite a while. "I killed-I killed someone."
"Shh," Will shushed, going and fetching the towel from the counter. He turned off the shower and reached down, scooping the boy up and into his arms, ignoring the pain in his arms and back and the weakness there. He pressed Morgan's head into his neck, holding him tightly. "It's alright, Morgan. Everything is alright."
"But I..." Morgan trailed off as he gasped for air, his lungs not wanting to hold onto any of it that he tried to pull in.
"Morgan, I need you to focus on your breathing," Will instructed, stepping over to the counter and placing Morgan on top of it, wrapping the towel around the boy a little firmer. "Slow your breathing." Will's hands took Morgan's face and watched as the boy tried to do what was asked of him, a long inhale in. "Good, Morgan. Let it out slowly." Morgan obeyed. "Morgan, you need to listen very carefully to me when I explain this to you." Will brushed the boy's wet hair from his face and picked up the pjs he had grabbed for Morgan to wear, starting to dress the boy. "You did nothing wrong. Those men were going to hurt you and you defended yourself. I need you to understand that."
"They're dead," Morgan's voice was loud and echoed around the bathroom.
"Morgan, you did nothing wrong. You did exactly what your father and I have been teaching you to do. This is the whole reason that we have been teaching you everything we have been. You must be able to keep yourself safe." Will gave a small sigh, looking over the now dressed Morgan who was still shaking, dark eyes wide like Alana's had been. "And Walter might not always be there to protect you. You have to take care of yourself, and you did so brilliantly."
"Dad..." Morgan's eyes flickered around the room as if they didn't know where to settle and Will caressed the boy's face. "Dad, I don't like this feeling."
"It'll fade," Will assured, voice soft and kind.
"I feel like there's something tying my insides into knots. I want to scream and throw up and hide. I killed two people Dad. I-I can't take that back. I can't change that. I can't-"
"Morgan," Will interrupted once more, calling those wandering eyes to his. "I know it feels strange and it will feel strange." He leaned over and placed a kiss to Morgan's forehead. "And it's hard to see you go through it so young, but you have to let it go. You can't hold onto the feeling. It will destroy you if you hold onto it."
"I'm not going to feel like this ever again. I'm not going to feel weak and terrified anymore," Morgan said decidedly. "I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not a burden," Will contradicted. "You have never been a burden, Morgan." He lowered Morgan from the counter and onto the floor, guiding the boy from the bathroom and into his own bedroom. "You're sleeping here tonight."
"But father-"
"Your father will not mind," Will stated strongly. "Get in." Morgan climbed up onto the large bed and Will pulled back the covers and sheets. Morgan settled down into the pillows and Will tucked him in. "I am going to take a shower. I will keep the door open. Come get me if you need something, alright?" Morgan gave a small nod. "You worked so hard, and both your father and I are very proud of you. You do not need to be afraid anymore. You're safe, you didn't do anything wrong, and we love you."
Will moved back into the bathroom and removed his bandages before stepping into the shower and scrubbing the blood from his body. Once dry, rebandaged to the best of his ability and dressed, Will left the room to find Morgan fast asleep. He gave a small, half smile and slowly left the room to go find where Hannibal and Walter were.
Will stepped back into the study and found it nearly empty, save for both his husband and son scrubbing the last of the blood from the floor, the hallway already cleaned. Hannibal looked up at the movement and Will was met with a still bloodied face and a tired expression.
"You're supposed to be resting," Hannibal said, causing Will to roll his eyes. "How are you feeling?"
Walter stopped and looked up at Will, expression hidden behind a mask to protect him from the overwhelmingly strong smell of bleach. The boy was battered, bloodied and dirty. His arms shook as he worked, and Will could see how desperately tired he was in his dark eyes. Eyes that looked like they were about to start crying, strength completely spent and emotions storming inside of him.
"I hurt," Will answered. "But I expect nothing less. Walter, go take a shower and get ready for bed. I will help finish this up."
"But I-"
"Walter," Will stated a little stronger. "Go get cleaned up. You have done more than enough for tonight. Come to our room when you're done."
Walter glanced over to Hannibal who gave a small nod, telling Walter to obey. Walter slowly rose to his feet, Will watching as his knees trembled in their attempt to hold him up. Waler moved for the door, but Will stopped him, pulling him into a hug.
"I love you, Walter."
"I love you too, Dad," he whispered in a broken voice.
Will released him and watched the boy leave down the hall, pulling the mask from his face, before turning back to where Hannibal had begun scrubbing again. Will stepped over, lowering himself to his knees beside Hannibal, watching his muscles work in his forearms as he scrubbed.
"You would hurt me if I tried to help you, wouldn't you?" Will asked softly.
"You lift a single finger," Hannibal threatened, not needing to finish the threat for Will to understand.
"Is this all you have left?" Will glanced over the small bit of red that still decorated the floor in an inky puddle that had been mostly cleaned up.
"Yes." Hannibal sat back on his heels and gave a deep exhale, the age beginning to show in his face a little more, a tiredness etched into his skin. "For tonight anyway."
"How are you feeling?" Wil asked gently, wishing he could reach out, but knowing better than to try to touch Hannibal at the moment. He wanted to work and Will knew not to get in Hannibal's way when there was work. Especially this type of work. "Your face looks-"
"I will be alright. My face is the only thing injured thankfully," Hannibal said, going back to his scrubbing. "How is Morgan?"
"Asleep. He had a breakdown in the shower."
"He did kill two people," Hannibal muttered, moving onto the very last section of the study. "I would expect him to have nightmares for a long while."
"They're good boys, Hannibal. They've gone through so much the last few days..." Will trailed off. "They deserve something."
"Something like what?" Hannibal asked. "Like a trip? A dog? What?"
"I don't know." Will ran a hand through his curls and winced at the stiffness in his shoulder. "Maybe we ask them what they want."
Hannibal gave a small nod. "Alright. One thing each, whatever they want. You're right. They deserve it."
Hannibal scooped up the scrub brush and bucket and placed them aside, deciding to deal with those in the morning, far too spent to try to do anymore tonight. He pulled Will to his feet and carefully looked over his husband.
"You need to be in bed. You're going to make yourself sick. You lost a good amount of blood."
"Hannibal, stop fretting over me," Will said with a smile. "You've done more than enough for us tonight as well. Let's get you showered and your face cleaned up and get to bed. We have a lot to do tomorrow."
Hannibal gave a nod and let Will pull him along back through the now clean and empty house, to their bedroom. Hannibal gave an odd look to find their youngest asleep in their bed but didn't question it. Just went into the bathroom to shower.
Will left the room and checked all the door and the windows, making sure each one was locked tight before heading back upstairs, running into Walter in the hallway. Walter looked to be barely awake on his feet and was stumbling. Will guided him back towards his own room, closing the bedroom door behind them and locking it as well, still not feeling perfectly safe, but better.
"Get into bed," Will instructed.
That seemed to wake Walter up from whatever half sleep he had been in. He looked over at Will with wide and questioning eyes. "But Father-"
"Shh," Will hushed, pulling his son to him in a tight hug, careful of the boy's back. "You're always so worried about what Father will do to you. Have you not learned that he cares about you?"
"I know who he is when he's angry," Walter answered in a calm voice. "And I do not want to be on the other side of that emotion."
"Has your father ever done anything to harm you?" Will asked, stroking the boy's hair. Walter shook his head. "And I can count on one hand the amount of times he has raised his voice at you. Has he ever been unkind or unfair to you?" Again, Walter shook his head. "Then stop being afraid of him. He loves you." Will released Walter and nodded towards the bed. "Try not to wake Morgan." Walter did as instructed, climbing in and under the covers beside Morgan, leaving Will to go to the bathroom.
He stepped into the steam filled room to find Hannibal at the counter, looking in the mirror at his cheek that had several decently deep gashes in it. He was carefully applying butterfly stitches to his skin, the cuts not deep enough to need real stitching.
"Are you alright?" Will asked.
Hannibal stood upright and gave a nod, checking the mirror once more before turning to Will and motioning him from the bathroom. "Get into bed, Will," Hannibal instructed. "You should be off of your feet."
Will left the bathroom and did as told, climbing into the bed beside Morgan and carefully pulling the small boy against his body, free hand reaching out and taking Walter's.
Hannibal looked over the scene for a moment before getting dressed. He made sure all the curtains were closed tightly so that the sun that was beginning to rise didn't come into the room. They needed the rest. All of them. Sleep was a good healer and Hannibal was going to let them all sleep as long as they needed to.
Hannibal turned off the bathroom light, immersing the room into a comfortable darkness before finding his way to his bed and climbing into it. He could feel the heat of Walter's body beside him as he moved in closer to be beside his family.
Hannibal closed his eyes with a sign settling in, shocked when he felt Walter's free hand that wasn't wrapped up in Will's, reach for him, calling him closer. Hannibal hesitated for a moment, unsure of exactly what Walter wanted, but moved closer to his son, hugging the boy tightly against him, other hand instinctively going out and finding Morgan's hand to hold onto.
They were all there, all safe, all whole. They were all aching and tired and physically and emotionally raw, but at least they were all together once more. A family.